


Out of Date

by newbandnamethx



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Intercrural Sex, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mildly Dubious Consent, Valve Fingering (Transformers), rather over tag than under tag that sort of thing, to be safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:49:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26710132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newbandnamethx/pseuds/newbandnamethx
Summary: What happens when you mix heat protocols with an array type they were never really intended for? An unfortunately messy need Tailgate isn't quite sure how to handle on his own... luckily he doesn't have to.(Look I can write legit summaries)
Relationships: Cyclonus/Tailgate (Transformers)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 98





	Out of Date

Tailgate wasn’t sure what was wrong with him. He was practically wilting into his berth, lazily swiping at error messages about overheating as they popped up, trying to manually deny his cooling fans from clicking on. Cyclonus was next to him, idly scrolling through some datapad, and he didn’t want to think about how awkward it would be if he gave his roommate the impression that he was self servicing or something similar while he was in the room.

The past few days had been like this, he was sure by now that there was something wrong with him. He probably had a virus, might’ve picked it up at Swerve’s. The flashes of heat had come and gone over the past few days but recently they had started coming and just kept coming and now he wasn’t even sure if he could get up, and what was that weird noise he was hearing now?

It was this high pitched whine, and as Tailgate dazedly looked for its source he noticed that Cyclonus was staring at him.

“Tailgate, stop that,” his roommate commanded sharply, red optics glowing ominously in the low light of their room.

Tailgate went to speak and found that it was his own vocalizer making the noise. Confused and embarrassed he tried to shuffle himself up to a sitting position, only to find his fans took advantage of his divided attention to override his overrides and click on noisily. His servos and arms shook as he tried to push himself up, but he found himself stuck halfway.

“Tailgate,” Came the warning growl again, and Tailgate winced. 

“Sorry, sorry!” He said in a panicked tone. “I don’t know what’s happening to me, my frame is being funny.”

“Funny,” Cyclonus repeated without a shred of humor in his voice.

“It won’t listen to me and I feel hot and weird and I think there’s something wrong with the new array Ratchet installed because it keeps leaking and Primus,” Tailgate babbled, a slight quiver passing over him as he did so.

“Tailgate, calm yourself,” Cyclonus cut him off, a tad more harshly than he intended. His tone softened as he spoke the next few words, “Do you want me to take you to Ratchet?”

He did, but he didn’t. For one, Tailgate really, really needed Ratchet right now. Or First Aid, anyone who could make sense of this for him. First Aid seemed like the less mortifying option of the two. But stopping him was the fact he didn’t want Cyclonus touching him or him leaking fluids onto his roommate, things with Cyclonus could be awkward and tense enough as it was. He put his servo to his helm, with a dull clank and emitted another small whine before responding.

“N-no,” Tailgate stuttered as he slid himself off the berth. “I got this.”

He did not “got this” apparently when no more than a few steps from the berth did he suddenly hunched over at the sensation of something leaking down his legs. Cyclonus was at his side in an instant, servo hovering over his back.

“Okay,” Tailgate whined in a defeated tone, not daring to try and straighten up again quite yet. “Just… touch me as little as possible, okay?”

Cyclonus felt a pang of hurt at that, as unjustified as it was. He knew he had been cruel and unnecessarily violent towards the mini early in their relationship, and while his feelings had changed considerably and he had adjusted his behavior, Tailgate was well within his own right to resent him.

It didn’t mean it didn’t sting though. Still he let out a soft noise of acknowledgement as he picked up Tailgate, threading his arms under Tailgate’s and held the mini out bodily from him, walking swiftly out of their shared habitation suite and down the corridors towards the medbay.

The medbay was, to Tailgate’s immense relief, vacant when the two of them arrived and also thankfully his panels had seemed to quell their leakage for the moment.

“Tailgate,” Ratchet greeted in mild surprise. “And company,” he finished, looking at Cyclonus with dull amusement. “What brings you here in this… odd manner.”

“Ratchet I think there’s something wrong with my… err equipment,” Tailgate said, squirming in Cyclonus’ grip until the mech got the hint and placed him down on the floor. Tailgate swiftly put distance between the two of them, hauling himself up onto one of the medical berths and looking at Ratchet pointedly.

“You’ll have to be more specific, Tailgate, I had to update a lot of outdated scrap, which part of it is giving you trouble?”

“I, well, y’see it’s-,” Tailgate knew the answer, simple and easy but he didn’t particularly feel like blurting it out.

“His interface equipment is malfunctioning,” Cyclonus input for him, expression irritable and impatient. Tailgate quailed and barely managed to not slap his servo over his visor in embarrassment as he tried to shrink down into his plating.

“Yeah, that,” he affirmed, as Ratchet looked to him for confirmation. He shot Cyclonus a mildly disapproving look folding his arms in front of himself.

“Leave my patients to explain their own conditions unless I ask you to do otherwise,” Ratchet chastised as he uncrossed his arms to place a gentle servo on Tailgate’s shoulder.

“Let me run a quick scan and see what might be going on,” he hummed as he did exactly that. When he pulled away and observed the results, comprehension dawned.

“I haven’t seen this issue in, well, a while, but that’s because this kind of coding hasn’t been around for a while,” Ratchet started as he scrolled through the data.

“In short,” Ratchet said looking down at Tailgate with a vague form of detached pity. “I must’ve overlooked some stray protocols when upgrading him and he’s still got some outdated protocols from a much more functionalist era, where frame autonomy wasn’t nearly as respected.”

“And that means?” Cycolus prodded, expression impatient. “Get to the short of it medic.”

“It means,” Ratchet said with an optic roll, “he has heat protocols, they’re active, and I can’t remove them or stop their function until Tailgate here is through.”

“O-oh,” Tailgate said in a small voice. He vaguely remembered heat protocols from back in the day, but with the old cable mode of interfacing it was as simple as exchanging data between two bots, and maybe a spark merge if you were into that kind of thing (Tailgate was not). Most of his heats had been spent with his fellow trash disposal minibots and they were a relatively painless and stressless ordeal.

But here?

Now?

On the Lost Light, where he could hardly call anyone a friend save Swerve and Rewind? Rewind was definitely out as a choice because of his conjunx, and Swerve was currently in the brig for letting Whirl get overcharged enough to try and drill a hole through his bar floor. Whirl was, of course, in the adjacent cell with him.

That really only left... Tailgate didn’t even allow his optics to drift over to Cyclonus. It was already pretty bad that the mech had to drag him here because he had become an incoherent mess in their shared habitation suite. He knew Cyclonus’ toleration of him was thin at best and every stunt like this he pulled further stretched that patience.

“How do I,” Tailgate gestured at his array. “I don’t- I never.”

“Tailgate,” Cyclonus prompted irritably, patience growing short with the minibot’s distraught fumbling. Ratchet shot the dour mech a bitter look in return, before he shifted his gaze to survey the mini, expression softening. 

“How do you handle a heat with your new array?” he finished for the struggling mini.

Tailgate nodded appreciatively.

“Well, I can tell you it won’t be as easy as you're used to, not just a plug in and resonate charge through a cable sort of deal. It’s been a while since I’ve seen an active heat with a new interface array, the heat protocols were phased out pretty soon after these kinds of arrays got popular precisely because they made heats such a pain in the aft to handle,” Ratchet said grimly.

At Tailgate’s distraught little quiver he placated, “But don’t worry, it shouldn’t be too much of a hassle. If anything it will just be messy, and you will need someone looking after you through it.”

Ratchet’s gaze drifted to Cyclonus, as his tone turned stern “You’re going to have to follow my instructions to the letter to make sure he is appropriately guided through this.”

“W-what, wait, hold on,” Tailgate protested, servos flying up in a stop motion as his entire frame practically leapt off the medical berth in surprise. “Cyclonus isn’t, he’s not-.”

“Apologies, you two came in together so I assumed,” Ratchet said with a shrug and a brief glance at Cyclonus. “Whoever it is you’re choosing to spend your heat with, send them my way so I can give them a rundown of things to lookout for. If you don’t already have someone in mind, you should figure it out as soon as possible, otherwise come to the medbay so I can monitor your systems for overheating. I will warn you, should you choose to go through a heat solo it will not be pleasant, but it is doable.”

Tailgate nodded, spark sinking as he thought again on his dismal prospects. At worst he supposed he would grin and bear it by himself. He slid himself off the medical berth, pedes landing lightly on the floor and started to trudge out of the medbay, muttering distractedly to himself. It was only a few steps into the hall that he realized Cyclonus had followed him.

“How are you planning to deal with this?” his roommate asked him.

“I kinda, just want to go hide somewhere and wait it out,” Tailgate said, tone for once completely devoid of its cheery cadence. He had spent six million years holed up somewhere while a war raged on outside, perhaps he could do the same with his heat. He wondered if he force offlined his systems now he could sleep through this whole thing, and then when he woke up the whole problem would be over. Warily he eyed his internal gauge watching as his temperature ticked up again and he felt moisture beading inside his panels and oh it would only be a few more moments before he started leaking again-

A strangled whine emitted from Tailgate’s intake as the burden of choice, or rather the burden of lack of choice, came crashing down around him.

“I had assumed you had another in mind,” Cyclonus’ smooth voice cut through the haze he had found himself lost in again, prodding him for a response.

“Another- oh! No, no,” Tailgate murmured, helm tilting to one side as he was unbalanced. 

“Then you wish to go to Ratchet to deal with this?” 

Tailgate whined at the coil of charge in his array. Go to Ratchet, just to have this all prolonged? Have the old medic watch him squirm in needy discomfort on the berth? He doubted he would be able to look Ratchet in the face without cringing ever again if he did that. He shook his helm.

“I don’t know what you want, you say there is no one else, you don’t want to go to Ratchet and you already rejected me,” Cyclonus’ irritated growl cut through his haze like his sword had once done through him in order to save his life.

“I didn’t reject you, when did I reject you? When did you offer?” Tailgate babbled out in confusion and partial delirium. He stopped walking to lean heavily on the wall, turning to face Cyclonus, fully. He noticed the other mech looked tense, servos balled into fists. He looked like he was holding back something, but then again, wasn’t he always? Why did they even have to talk about this?

“I assumed when you corrected Ratchet in the medbay-,” Cyclonus said, a minute bit of unsureness creeping into his tone.

“I- what? I thought you wouldn’t want to be burdened with me,” Tailgate burst out in startled annoyance.

“It… would not be a burden,” Cyclonus said softly, fists starting to unclench as he looked at Tailgate almost shyly.

“It wouldn’t?” Tailgate pressed excitedly, visor flashing white with his eagerness. Subconsciously he shuffled a little closer to Cyclonus, who did not bother to put space between them.

“I do not find your company unpleasant, though it is often grating,” Cyclonus admitted, rubbing at his helm sheepishly, the admission coming difficult for him. “And I do not wish to see you in further pain due to this… unfortunate mishap.”

“So does that mean-,” Tailgate started, bouncing on his pedes excitedly in anticipation of Cyclonus’ response.

“It means what I said it means,” Cyclonus said gruffly, turning away slightly as he felt his face heating a bit .

“Okay, so should we, uhm,” Tailgate settled down again, becoming shy once more as he tentatively looked down at his now leaking array.

“I will be going to talk to Ratchet and receive his briefing, when I get back we will address this issue. For now, just go back to our room,” Cyclonus said softly. He did notice the thin trail of lubricant leaking from the mini’s array, but there was no point in commenting on it and making Tailgate even more uncomfortable than he clearly already was. 

Tailgate nodded and looked at Cyclonus’ retreating form as he started to fumble his way back in the direction of their suite.

\---

When Cyclonus yet again graced his medbay for the second time that day, Ratchet was confused and slightly curious.

“Something else gone wrong with your roommate then? I’d like to see him here personally if that’s the case.” 

“He has… elected to have me help him through his issue,” Cyclonus said stiffly.

“Heh, I knew it,” Ratchet said with a small smile that drops once he sees Cyclonus glaring at him with no small hint of menace. Primus, the mech was touchy.

“Knew what exactly?” Cyclonus glowered as he loomed over the medic.

“First of all, don’t try that intimidation on me, you need my help, and I am too old and experienced for that scrap to work anyway. Second, it’s written all over your slagging face every time you look at him,” Ratchet said, unimpressed, as he turned around to root through a pile of datapads.

Cyclonus stood mulling those statements over. Care for Tailgate? Of course he did. As stubborn and aloof as he may be, he could no longer deny that, having gone through the effort to have saved the mech’s life. But Ratchet wasn’t just implying he cared at a basic level, no, he was implying-

“Stop glaring like that, it’s probably part of why your little roommate is so confused about you all the time,” Ratchet commented offhandedly as he swiped through the datapad. “Now before I even get into the heat stuff, the basic gist of this whole situation is that he is a mini, you aren’t. So keep in mind he’s breakable,” Ratchet accentuates the last word, looking Cyclonus up and down pointedly.

“I don’t want to see torn valve mesh, heavily dented frame parts, the works. Watch what you’re grabbing and how hard you are grabbing, or,” he gestures vaguely, “thrusting. Though I will say, spiking is ill advised in this scenario, assuming it would be your first time together.”

Cyclonus nodded.

“Right, now to the actual heat,” Ratchet continues. “We need to hurry this up before things get much worse with him, would’ve been great if you two could’ve sorted this out earlier.” Ratchet sighed tiredly, “But that’s not the case.”

“You should talk through with him about what he does and doesn’t want, consent is tricky with heat and it’s best to establish boundaries before engaging in any sort of interfacing acts to ensure no regrets or hard feelings after. Tailgate may think or say he wants things in heat that he would not outside of it, to be explicitly clear, and if you care about him, I trust you won’t take advantage of that,” Ratchet said, expression hard and stern.

Again, all Cyclonus did was nod, his face stoic and unreadable. 

“Other than that, be careful, use extra lubricant,” Ratchet said, expression easing as he gave a small nod before turning to rifle through a drawer and toss a tub of the stuff to him. “And remember this is for Tailgate’s sake not yours.”

“Is that all?” Cyclonus said irritably as he caught the tub and turned it over in his servos. 

“Watch your tone,” Ratchet said with a roll of his optics. “When this is all over, if you really care for this mech, you should clue him in to whatever exactly is going on between you two, for both of your sakes. A long spark to spark, doctor’s orders. Now unless you have any more questions, get,” Ratchet waved a servo, turning back to his things. 

Cyclonus hovered for a long moment, hesitating.

“Spit it out then,” Ratchet sighed, not even bothering to look back at Cyclonus.

“How do you… care for someone without being weak?” Cyclonus mumbled, and it took Ratchet a few moments to piece together what exactly he had asked, and another few to figure out how to answer it. The silence stretched between them, long and uncomfortable, at least on Cyclonus’ part.

Ratchet huffed out a laugh, finally, breaking the silence, “Now I know you have it bad if you’re asking a mech like me a question like that.”

Cyclonus’ expression soured as he abruptly turned to go.

“Now hold on, your plating’s as brittle as your sense of humor, huh?” Cyclonus didn’t stop his retreat, but neither did Ratchet stop talking. “Caring about people doesn’t make you weak. If anything it makes you stronger. Denying your feelings is only going to cause pain, both to yourself and the ones you care about.”

“Caring about someone means you have something to lose, and that’s a vulnerability, but it doesn't make you weak. Opening yourself up to being hurt is the opposite of weakness,” Ratchet finished. Cyclonus paused in his exit, throwing a look back as he gripped the door frame, and nodded once in acknowledgement, before he disappeared from sight.

\---

When Cyclonus returned, Tailgate was a miserable looking lump on his own berth, legs spread wide, visor dim and hazy as he rested against a pillow.

“Tailgate?” he prompted, having never seen the other mech look quite so lifeless, the sight wringing out a reluctant twinge of concern from him.

“Here,” his small roommate whimpered.

“Tailgate, Ratchet has informed me of a few things in regards to properly…attending to your issue,” Cyclonus started hesitantly.

“Oh that’s good Cyclonus,” the mini said distractedly, not sounding like he understood Cyclonus’ statement at all.

“Could we discuss what you want?” Cyclonus moved over towards the berth and squatted down so that he was at optic level with Tailgate.

“What I want?” Tailgate repeated dumbly, helm tilting to one side. Cyclonus noticed how his servos drifted in towards his interface panel, then out again, as he rubbed his thighs idly. He could smell the lubricant that was pooling under his interface panel, and for the first time Cyclonus was coming to the realization that he was not unaffected physically in this situation either. His internal systems were ticking up in temperature as well, and he could feel things shifting under his panel.

Flashes of Tailgate, spread in various positions, his spike buried deep in what he is sure would be a deliciously tight-

“In regards to handling your heat,” Cyclonus shoved down the well of frustration that threatened to rise up and forced himself not to snap at his disorientated roommate as he struggled to reign in his thoughts. Tailgate sometimes was just slow to get things, he knew that, but forcing himself to accept and accommodate someone's naivety when he had spent so long with Galvatron being taught to punish, to take advantage of that…. It was difficult. 

Not that he wanted Tailgate to become cold and bitter and jaded like him. Primus no. He just couldn’t help the reflexive tension that the smaller bot’s cluelessness sometimes invoked. Deep down he just wished Tailgate was a little wiser to the world, so he didn’t feel the need to look after him so closely.

“I’ve never, I don’t-,” Tailgate started, face scrunching up.

“How about I just use my fingers, and if anything hurts or you don’t like it, you tell me to stop, alright?” Cyclonus suggested. Tailgate relaxed and nodded.

“That sounds nice,” he hummed and then was quiet. 

“Cyclonus?” he asked timidly, peeking up at the larger mech’s face as he did so.

Cyclonus grunted in response, and taking that as a go ahead to continue, Tailgate does, “I just wanted to say thank you, for helping me. I know I can be annoying and useless and embarrassing. But thank you for still being my friend.”

“I don’t think you are useless. And I am... sorry I get impatient with you,” Cyclonus said, forcing the words out in a tone that was stiff and awkward.

“You don’t?” Tailgate said softly, a tone of awe creeping into his voice.

“Tailgate you,” Cyclonus looked away as heat rose into his face. “You have proven yourself invaluable to this crew several times over. I admire you, and am honored for the privilege of finally being able to aid you in turn.”

“You helped me plenty,” Tailgate said, his voice surprisingly fierce. “You saved me when I thought I was doomed to Cybercrosis,” Tailgate’s servo reached out for Cyclonus’ where it lay on the berth and he slid his digits between Cyclonus’ own.

“I like you,” Tailgate said, and his tone wasn’t shy or wavery, it was firm and assertive. “And I want you to help me with this… er, but only if you want to.” The assuredness was gone as Tailgate backed off a little, looking up at Cyclonus’ face earnestly.

“It would be my pleasure little one,” And the warmth that filled Cyclonus’ tone was sincere and sent a jolt of warmth through Tailgate’s entire frame.

“Open this for me,” Cyclonus said, pausing a moment before adding, “please.”

Tailgate was eager to obey, interface panel opening eagerly to reveal a striking and very swollen looking valve. Cyclonus spent a moment just peering at it curiously. It was black with little stripes and highlights of teal. He itched to run a finger through the pooling lubricant, but refrained.

“Do you have a preference for whether I touch your valve or spike?” Cyclonus asked as he looked at the little swell where Tailgate’s spike housing was. The tip was just barely peeking out, dribbling a bit.

“Either? Both? I don’t care, can you just touch me?” Tailgate said, and Cyclonus had to bite back a chuckle at the surprisingly demanding inflection that colored the mini’s words.

Cyclonus gently rubbed at Tailgate’s anterior node, watching the mini squirm under the sensation. 

“Does that feel alright?” he asked and Tailgate nodded his helm eagerly in response.

“Feels, o-oh, could you do that a bit harder,” Tailgate asked tentatively. Cyclonus complied, pressing down harder and oh that was really starting to feel good.

“F-faster,” Tailgate demanded before moaning out a breathy, “please.” His helm is tilting back to look up at the ceiling as Cyclonus works his digit over his node faster and he can see the crackle of charge rising off Tailgate’s frame. Tailgate is gripping onto Cyclonus’ arms for stability and the feeling of the other mech touching him and leaning into him only had Cyclonus’ working at him with even more enthusiasm.

Tailgate’s frame is shuddering and his visor flickering, soft, high and desperate noises leaking out of his vocalizer. He’d imagined this, he had to admit. But nothing his processor had come up with could compare to the reality of Tailgate looking and sounding pleasured underneath him.

With a final, firm rub and light pinch, Tailgate was overloading easily, the charge peaking and then dispersing as lubricant came out of his valve in a hot gush, and his frame slumped down onto the berth. 

“Was that satisfactory?” Cyclonus asked as he watched Tailgate drift in and out of a daze for a moment. “Did everything feel alright?”

“Satisfactory? That was great,” Tailgate looked up at him admiringly as he wormed his way up to a sitting position.

“I doubt your heat is over that easily, do you want me to touch your spike next?” Cyclonus asked as Tailgate once again started to squirm restlessly. His first overload had been good, amazing really, but it had only whet his appetite for more.

“Can you, do you think,” Tailgate looks at Cyclonus’ interface panel pointedly.

“I think, in our current state, that would be unwise. This is about a medical necessity for you at the moment,” Cyclonus stated as he folded his servos primly over his interface panel. “I would feel uncomfortable taking advantage of your need. We already agreed to just fingers, let us stay with that.”

“You wouldn’t be though! It’s fine,” Tailgate insisted, leaning bodily into Cyclonus, voice pleading. It admittedly did tug at his spark, and a deeper, more repugnant part of him wanted to give in…. But his mind contested those desires with his own fears, in the form of dubious possible outcomes. The image of Tailgate regretting their night after, Tailgate getting hurt, Tailgate resenting him-

He had already seen the small mech suffer so much, a fair bit of it due to his own actions. He had no desire to see Tailgate in pain or danger, no matter how much he was itching for it.

“Tailgate. No,” Cyclonus responded, expression stern and unforgiving while inside a turmoil of uneasy emotions cycled around and around his fuel tank.

“Okay,” Tailgate said, disappointment plain in his tone, frame slumping a little in resignation.

“I would not be adverse to approaching that activity at a later date when your judgment is not so… compromised,” Cyclonus murmured as he rubbed soothing little circles into Tailgate’s thighs.

“Really,” Tailgate was snapping up again, looking more like his usual excitable self, were it not for the clear signs of arousal.

“Really,” Cyclonus said, with a small, encouraging smile. Then he looked down at Tailgate’s spike housing.

“I know we did not discuss mouths, only fingers, but I was wondering if-,” Cyclonus started cautiously.

Tailgate’s visor flared white in his excitement, “Oh- Oh!” He exclaimed. “That, o-of course.” He looked at Cyclonus stunned a moment before he tried, “Do you want me to-.”

He was cut off as Cyclonus bent down to seal his mouth over Tailgate’s spike housing. With everything else, he had promised he would be gentle. But he felt Tailgate squirm under him as he started to lave his glossa over his spike housing, he found his resolve crack. His desire to heap pleasure on the mini drove him, his servos reaching out to still bucking hips as his glossa dipped into the housing just slightly, rubbing itself over Tailgate’s sensitive spike tip.

“O-oh Cyclon-UHs,” Tailgate gasped, and small servos were grasping at his horns as if they were handlebars to keep him steady.

Tailgate felt something give and then his spike was sliding out into the warm heat of Cyclonus’ intake. Tailgate all but collapsed, servos loosening from his horns as his arms all but gave out while he tried to hold himself up. He was only able to tilt his helm up high enough to look at Cyclonus as he worked away at him, bobbing his helm eagerly.

Then he started to hum, Primus knows what, Tailgate did not have the focus to work it out. He had never felt this good, felt this- this- 

Oh Primus he didn’t have the words for how he felt, but he could feel it, an overwhelming warmth radiating out from his spark. And without his consent or go ahead Tailgate felt his chest plates click open. His body seized up so suddenly in alarm that even with Cyclonus holding him down, his violent jerk was enough to surprise him momentarily and it was only through force of will that Cyclonus managed to avoid biting down on Tailgate’s spike as his hips slammed into his face uncomfortably.

To make it worse, the weird pleasure of being so deep in Cyclonus’ intake mixed with the pain of Cyclonus grabbing his hips rather harshly, and his plating slamming into Cyclonus’ chin, had Tailgate entering into one of the most baffling overloads of his life.

“I’m sorry,” Tailgate shouted as his limp spike slid from Cyclonus’ mouth leaving a trail of transfluid. He noticed his chest plates were still open and hurriedly tried to close them again. “I felt so good and I got distracted and back before arrays like this we kinda used to self service like that-.”

“Tailgate,” Cyclonus said firmly, and the smaller mech cringed on reflex, expecting a foreboding glare. But when he looked up Cyclonus looked calm if a bit off kilter from the series of events that had just come to pass. Maybe even a tad amused, his red optics glittering with some unspoken emotion as he surveyed Tailgate for a bit.

“I am not angry, just... give me a moment to gather myself,” Cyclonus closed his optics, tilted his helm back and took a few moments to sit like that, before opening them to look back down at Tailgate who was still eyeing him pensively.

“Relax little one, mistakes happen,” Cyclonus straightens himself back up. 

“Are you sure, I didn’t mean to get so excited, you were just so good,” Tailgate said, emphasizing the last two words.

“It’s flattering when you put it that way,” Cyclonus chuckled, wiping at his mouth one last time to clear it of mess.

“And sorry for not warning you,” Tailgate prattled on. “And- Oh.”

His optics caught on Cyclonus’ open interface panel. It seemed, in the bizarre turn of events that had just gone down, that Cyclonus had either lost focus or opened his panels during the chaos, and his spike now stood proud and tall outside of its housing.

“I could help you with that,” Tailgate offered, looking at the spike. It was large, large enough that he knew it would probably take forever to safely seat it inside him.

“Tailgate, I’ve already told you,” Cyclonus began, voice full of chastisement.

“No no no,” Tailgate cuts him off. “I can just use my servos, or, well um, not my intake,” Tailgate mutters as he taps the panel over his intake. “Or you could just maybe, rub between. Rewind showed me some videos where mecha just did it like that.”

“Excuse me?” Cyclonus looked slightly scandalized as he asked the question.

Tailgate gestured impatiently to his valve, “Just rubbing on the outside, no putting it in.”

Before Cyclonus could really weigh in for either a yes or a no, Tailgate was close to him and suddenly something warm and wet was against his spike as the smaller mech crawled into his lap and ground his valve against his spike.

“Is this okay?” The question comes breathily. And Primus he shouldn’t it, it really isn’t, but Cyclonus finds himself nodding nonetheless, and slipping a servo behind Tailgate’s back to push him close, his spike nosing its way deeper into the plush folds of his valve. 

They start rocking in time together, the pace is slow and leisurely and the rubbing on his spike is maddening and Cyclonus finds himself clenching his fists, trying to hold back, optics shuttering as he finds himself grinding his denta trying to restrain himself.

“You look like you’re in pain,” Tailgate’s voice cuts through the tension that he hadn’t even realized had started to pervade his frame.

“No I,” Cyclonus was reeling, fumbling for an excuse. It wasn’t pain exactly. 

“We can switch positions and you can be a bit rougher if you want,” Tailgate offered, and before Cyclonus could give any input the mini was on all fours in front of him, valve wet and swollen looking, peeking back at him.

Cyclonus felt something in him snap a bit. 

A strangled noise is all that leaves Cyclonus’ intake as he finds himself rutting against Tailgate’s valve, slick wet noises sounding as he pressed his thighs together and gripped his hips tighter.

The sound of his hips clanging against Tailgate’s echo through the room, his grunts sounding off in tandem with Tailgate’s own gasps of pleasure. He can feel the mini under him trying to grind back on him to meet his thrusts and if anything that makes everything feel hotter, makes him want all this so much more.

He thrust between the heated lips of Tailgate’s valve and the friction combined with Tailgate’s breathy little moans every time the head of his spike rubbed his node, it was heaven.

When he overloaded, it was between those folds and the sight of his transfluid dripping off Tailgate’s valve was enough to stir a dangerous want within him that he hurriedly shoved down.

Later. If Tailgate still desired it, later.

Speaking of Tailgate, he flipped the mini over and thumbed at his rapidly blinking node until the mini overloaded for a third and final time. 

“I think, I think that’s good for now,” Tailgate said as he tried to get his processor in order. The two of them were laying together on their backs on his berth. He didn’t really want to think though, he wanted to lay against Cyclonus and recharge. So that's what he did.

\---

The next day at morning refuel Ratchet spied Tailgate near prancing in, spry and lively as ever, while Cyclonus loomed and lurked behind him, looking dour and put upon as ever. Though just for the briefest moment when he nearly tripped over Tailgate who had turned around suddenly, two cubes in his servos, Ratchet saw his face soften and the smallest smile grace it as he steadied his smaller companion.

Tailgate laughed and said something the distance made unintelligible, offering the other cube to Cyclonus.

Ratchet himself smiled into his cube knowing that all was right with the Lost Light. As right as it ever was, that is.

**Author's Note:**

> My pals, my amigos, my friends of the robotically kink inclined, I am behind on my writing quota and catching up, or trying.
> 
> Sorry its been sparse with the updates! Never intended that!
> 
> Good news tho, Ive finished MTMTE and LL so guess what! Lots of fic about That coming next. As well as updates for my older shit, which I am still working on dw, just... slowly.


End file.
